what’s my purpose?


To know what one’s purpose is, is a beautiful thing indeed. To go forth everyday confidently driven by your deepest yearnings. I wish to figure this mystery out. This mystery of self. Who am I? What makes me uniquely me? What drives me?


I know that I am a creative person. I feel stifled if I do not express this aspect of myself everyday. Writing has become the safety net in which I conveniently land when I feel myself falling. I am creative. But i believe it is my inquisitive nature that fuels this need for creativity. I want to know. To understand. To make sense of this chaotic mess. I guess you could say I like to figure things out, or solve problems. It is a fulfilling achievement for me to solve a problem. It serves some purpose deep within. One that is deeply embedded. So, I know I am creative and like to figure things out at least….


I also find that helping others is easily the most fulfilling thing I can do with my time. It must be part of who I am because again; this is deeply embedded and has been there as long as I have been present. Human connection. I mean, what good are my efforts if they are not shared and enjoyed by others?


I guess we are talking about identity here. Not the kind of superficial things like where I went to school or where I grew up, but the deeper and more intimate things. The things that I am irreducibly bound to.


I am extremely empathetic. I feel for others more, in some ways, than I feel for myself. I will sooner shed a tear at the heartache of another then at my own ache. It is as though I am a detached observer in some ways. Looking inward.. Downward… Must be my inquisitive nature.


I want to develop a mission that I can focus on to bring together these key elements of myself. I want to find a creative outlet where I can work to figure things out and simultaneously help others by easing their pain and suffering. Tall order. Any ideas?


I want to live. I want to love. And I want to matter.


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junk drawers

boxes full of matches,

alongside miscellaneous things…

Nestled together for comfort;

discarded, they wait

patiently to be remembered,

used and acknowledged.

There destiny finally fulfilled.